


On The Ropes

by buckychrist



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Boxer!AU, Bucky!Boxer AU, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-09-21 12:57:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17044178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buckychrist/pseuds/buckychrist
Summary: Bucky’s career to you was only more unnecessary pain and agony in an already agonizing world. But to Bucky, it was his only choice to make ends meet.





	On The Ropes

Hat hung low, you walked down the busy sidewalk surrounding Madison Square Garden Arena. The streets were alive and packed, you having to push through people in order to get by. The line to get inside wrapped around the whole building, but you walked passed in confidence. You wrapped your arms around your torso, hugging your jacket tighter around you to fight off the cold evening air. Through the hustle and bustle, you could still hear the tapping of your heels against the cement. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see men turning to watch the swing of your hips as you walked, but you simply ignored them.

Snowflakes began to slowly sprinkle down from the sky, and you frowned. It was hard not to think of all the people who had lost their homes during weather like this. The Depression was hitting everyone hard. Even you, the daughter of the boxing commissioner, found yourself scrambling to make ends meet some days. The only real luxury you had left was the lavish, expensive clothing you owned and refused to sell, even though you knew you should. But your struggle was nothing compared to the boxers, who were now fighting to feed their families and not for the sport itself.

Your gloved hand had just touched the handle to the back door of the building when a flash went off. When you turned, a small crowd of reporters with notepads swarmed you, cameramen in amongst them with their oversized cameras. They were yelling your name, trying to grab your attention for a quick comment. You smiled dearly at one of the cameras as you turned away from the door. Your father would have a fit if he found out you turned down even a second of publicity for his sport.

“Are you rooting for Steve Rogers like your father?” One shouted.

“How did you feel when you found out that Rogers had been dethroned?” Another demanded.

“Unlike my father, I hold no bias for any particular boxer,” You told them with a coy smile. Everyone and their mothers knew that your father loved Steve Rogers. He was the son he never had, and he made sure to let everyone know. “And I feel that there was a fighter who trained harder, hit faster, and did better than Rogers and that’s why he won. I feel that if Steve wanted to keep his title, he should’ve done the same. Besides, it’s been three years since he lost the title. It’s belonged to Barnes for a while now.” You started to turn away towards the door again, but one reporter called your name again.

“Do you have an opinion on Barnes?” He asked you as the reporters dialed down. You looked around for a few seconds before looking back at him. You got questions like these all the time. Everyone was dying to know if the commissioner’s daughter was partial with the fighters.

“He’s a great fighter, what more is there to say?” You said simply, monotone.

“One last question, darlin’,” Another reporter said, shutting down the others. “Is there any truth behind the rumors that you and Steve Rogers are an item behind the scenes?” You pretended to consider the question, just like your father had taught you. It was all about the act. All of them were staring at you, their pens waiting on their notepads in anticipation. After a half minute passed, you just shrugged, smiling sweetly at the reporters as the bulbs of the cameras exploded, lighting up the dark alley. Turning, you opened the door and went inside the arena, ignoring the calls after you as the door promptly closed.

The rumors of Steve and you had been started by your father when he dropped to a reporter that maybe one day he’d become an actual father to Steve Rogers, tacking on a wink for good measure. It was all publicity. Everything was always about publicity for the fights when it came to your father, and he didn’t care who he sold out to get it. He always told you that it was all business and that it didn’t mean anything. But it was weird, getting intense, personal questions like that when you tried to come to matches or during formal events you were invited to. You were just glad they didn’t follow you around any other time. It was a rare day when you actually lied to the paps, always keeping things vague. But this evening, you lied to them twice in only two minutes.

The roar of the crowd filled the arena as everyone was out of their seats, watching the fight in progress. You stopped to watch for yourself. Steve Rogers, former heavyweight champion for three years in a row, versus Sam Wilson. The championships were long over, but the fighters still fought. People still had money to give and lives that needed entertainment, and the boxers had mouths to feed and heat to keep turned on. Steve threw a punch, hitting Wilson right in the jaw and sending him stumbling backwards. The crowd grew louder with every swing Rogers threw at Wilson. You watched in disgust. Growing up around this violence didn’t mean you had to grow used to it.

Having seen enough, you continued walking. Looking over next to the mats, you could see Lang and Barton tripping over themselves as they screamed into their microphones the events of the fight in front of them, broadcasting to the radios. Sometimes, you’d come to a match just to sit behind them and listen to them. Hearing it on the radio was one thing but seeing it in person, when they’d rise out of their seats with their microphone in hand or slamming their hands on the tables, was a completely different experience.

On the outside of the ropes, you could see James Rhodes watching Wilson intently. Rhodey had been a good friend of your family for a long time, and he signed on as Sam’s manager a few years prior. On the other side was Phil Coulson, another close family friend, yelling something at Steve. He had been managing Steve for his whole career and took it the hardest when he lost his title as champion.

Walking passed the fight and the crowd, you made your way down the hallway that lead to the locker rooms, where you found Tony Stark. While he was watching the fight, with his shoulder against the wall and arms crossed, it was evident he was expecting someone. And you knew that person was you.

“Has he eaten?” You asked as you approached, your arms crossing over your chest to mimic his stance. “Please tell me he’s eaten.” Tony scoffed.

“Are you trying to say I don’t take care of my fighter?” He asked, his voice laced with sarcasm as he continued to watch the fight. You rolled your eyes.

“Of course not,” You said defensively. “But he’s gone out plenty of times on an empty stomach, and he’s almost passed out.” You sighed, and you felt your face soften. “You know I’m always worried about him.” The crowd exploded in yells and cheers as Tony finally glanced at you.

“He’s eating hash in the locker room as we speak,” He said, nodding towards the doorway on the other side of the hall. “Bastard couldn’t wait for me to get him a spoon and I already taped his hands, so he’s eating with his head to the bowl. Like an animal.” He shook his head, but you couldn’t help but smile fondly. Tony tilted his head as he looked at you. This was the man who raised you, not only on the sport of boxing, but as a whole as well. When your father brought you to the gym to meet with the fighters, Tony would take little you by the hand and you’d walk around with him as he watched, shouting out instructions to the boxers and explaining to you what they were doing wrong. His fighters came and gone, but you never got as attached to them as you did with this one.

“You can’t see him,” He said flatly. Like he always did. And you frowned, like you always did.

“Five minutes,” You bargained. He exhaled sharply and you stood up straighter. “Two minutes. Please Tony. I need to see him before fights. He does better, you know this.” When he didn’t budge, you took a slight step forward and lowered your voice. “My dad’s going to be here soon. I don’t have a lot of time.” While his head remained facing forward, his eyes fell upon you. “Tony, please.” He didn’t say anything, just sighing and nodding towards the door. You smiled in triumph and kissed his cheek. Tony always tried to be the hardass manager on you that he was on the man you were trying to see, but it never worked. He always caved.

Quietly, you opened the door to the locker room and slowly entered, tiptoeing down the little entryway into the locker room. The smell of sweat and feet hit you like a train, but you were used to it. Across the room, there he was. His arms resting on the table, haloing his head that was face down in the bowl. His hair was down, covering his face completely, but his head was bobbing up and down slightly and you could hear the sounds of his quick chewing. As you watched him, you found yourself wondering when the last time he ate was. Shaking the thought, you began to cross the room.

“And there he was,” You said in your best radio announcer voice. His head popped up in surprise, bits of food falling from his chin. “Three time heavyweight champion, beginning his rookie year. The man himself. The iron fist. The man with the metal arm.” You threw your arms in the air. “James… Buchanan… “Bucky”… Barnes!” You slowly approached him, whispering a quiet roar to imitate a screaming crowd. Bucky’s smile was wide as he grabbed you and pulled you down onto his lap, a squeal leaving your mouth.

“You forgot the sexiest boxer that ever was,” He said teasingly, licking his lips as he stared at you. You pursed your lips.

“I don’t know,” You said in faux skepticism. “Have you seen Odinson? His complexion is godly. And don’t get me started on those arms.” You fanned your face with your hand, feigning adoration, as Bucky shook his head at you while trying and failing to hide a smile.

“Your words wound me more than any hit I’ve ever taken,” He said playfully. You were about to defend yourself, prepared to tell him you were kidding, when suddenly his mouth collided with yours in a greasy, wet kiss. Letting him have his moment, you allowed him to kiss you for a few seconds before pushing him away in disgust.

“You’re all covered in food and grease,” You whined, pulling a handkerchief from your pocket and wiping his face off with it while you grumbled about how disgusting he was. He laughed as you cleaned him up, squeezing your hips where his hands were resting. Stuffing your handkerchief back in your pocket, you put your hands on his shoulders and smiled at him.

“Still not sure why they call me the man with the metal arm or Iron Fist,” He said quietly, rolling shoulders backwards to forwards. “Does this look like metal to you?” He flexed his very muscular, yet very much flesh arm.

“It’s because they say when you hit with your left fist, it’s like being hit with a metal pole,” You said. He knew why they said it, but you knew he liked hearing it said out loud, especially from you. Reaching up to rub his shoulder, he visibly flinched when you made contact, and you cowered away. “Does it still hurt?” He was hesitant as he looked away from you before nodding. “You’re going to need a metal arm if you keep exerting this one. It’s going to fall off.” He scoffed.

“It’ll be fine,” He assured you. You said nothing for a while as you stared at him. There was always something. If it wasn’t his shoulder, it was his hand that he broke and was out of the game for weeks. If it wasn’t that it was broken ribs. Or a concussion. Something was always hurting him, and it broke your heart to see him in pain all the time. You always worried which fight would be his last, which fight would injure him enough to where he couldn’t fully recover. Or worse.

“You know,” You finally said quietly. “It’s not too late to drop out of this fight.” His head rolled back, and he audibly groaned. “No one will judge you if you do it.”

“Everyone will judge me if I do it,” He said, now annoyed. “I need to do this. You know I need to do this. The winnings are $700, I need that money.” He brought his head back up to look at you, letting it fall against his shoulder.

“I could get a job as a seamstress or something to help you.” You were almost pleading now and you hated how pathetic you sounded. “Come on, Bucky.” His hands dropped from your sides, the feeling of his touch still lingering, and leaving a stinging pain in your chest.

“You’re awful at sewing,” He retorted, his voice exasperated. “Why do you keep doing this? We’ve had this conversation time and time again. What are you so afraid of?” You huffed.

“Do you know what they’re calling him?” You demanded, trying to keep your voice level. “They’re calling him the Hulk. He’s undefeated in the cruiserweight division-“

“So am I!” He interrupted but you kept going.

“-And he’s taking people out in less than three rounds. And you get nothing if you lose except for severely injured and lost job opportunities at the docks. Is it really worth the risk?” Your breathing had quickened by the end of your rant. He ran a hand through his hair, looking away from you.

“The work at the docks isn’t guaranteed every day anyway,” He told you in a small, quiet voice. He looked back at you with sad eyes. “Everything is a risk these days. But we take them because we need to survive.” Lifting his hand, he cupped your cheek. You leaned into his touch, closing your eyes as he began to stroke your skin with his thumb. “Why don’t you have faith in me, doll?” You sighed again.

“Of course I have faith in you, I just don’t want anything to happen to you,” You admitted. “Let me get a job so you don’t have to do this. I could learn to sew. Or get a factory job. Anything.” He shook his head, leaning forward and pressing his lips to your forehead. When he pulled back to look at you, his eyes were soft with a smile to match.

“Let me take care of us,” He whispered. “I can do this.” For awhile, you didn’t react, just staring at his anticipating face. Finally, you slowly nodded and he beamed at you.

The door slammed open, and you jumped off of Bucky just as little Peter Parker, his 16 year old protégé, ran in. The both of you relaxed, relieved. He was holding his cap so it didn’t fall off while he stopped to catch his breath.

“Your father’s outside, Miss,” he said once he gathered himself. “You have to go.”

Just as you turned to look at Bucky, he grabbed your arm and pulled you back down to him, kissing you hard. When you pulled away, you smiled.

“That’s for luck,” He told you, smacking your butt as you ran out, making you squeal. The door to the locker room was opened again just as you made it out of the exit on the other side, your father’s voice echoing off the walls being the last thing you heard before the door shut quietly behind you. As you walked down the silent hallways, you thought about Bucky.

The two of you had been seeing each other behind closed doors for two and a half years, starting only six months after his career as a professional boxer started. He had already participated in and won numerous fights at this point. You were visiting Tony at his gym when you ran into fresh meat Bucky Barnes, who was there training. The two of you were like lightning, a spark lit up between the two of you before you had even said a word to each other. From there, you found yourself looking for every single excuse to go to Tony’s gym in order to see him, and came up with any excuse you could think of to talk to him, mostly teasing him in an attempt to flirt. His laugh was like a symphony that you wished you could put on a vinyl and play on repeat, and you hated how your heart swelled every time he smiled. It was when Tony made a remark to you about how Bucky was coming in for training almost every day that you knew he felt the same. About a month after you had met him, somehow, the two of you ended up alone in a hallway. The tension could be cut with a knife, so heavy that you couldn’t take it any longer. You all but jumped on him, his back hitting the wall as you kissed him, hard. Almost desperate. For the few seconds, Bucky was frozen, not making a move. But then you felt his hands grabbed your waist, pulling you so your body was pressed into his own. Without a word, you left immediately after, as if you were trying to say that was the only one. That it had to be the only one.

But you were only kidding yourself.

Now two and a half years had passed, and you two never stopped. Unbeknownst to your father, you spent nearly every night at Bucky’s little Brooklyn apartment. It was a tiny, one bedroom apartment that he could barely afford most months. It was the only place the two of you could be a complete couple, without worrying about the wrong people seeing you or being caught. With you being the daughter of a commissioner, a person with such high influence in the boxing world, it was deeply frowned upon for you to fraternize with the fighters. Speculation was one thing when you kept everything vague and didn’t confirm anything. But if you were to be caught with Bucky? That could ruin his boxing career.

But you tried not to think about that, instead thinking of the good little moments with him. Like when it’s just the two of you in his apartment, a record playing while the two of you slow dance across his living room floor. One hand on your hip with the other gently holding yours as you sway with the music. Bliss.

Your thoughts were interrupted by footsteps echoing down the adjacent hall, and you rounded the corner to find Steve wiping his forehead as he walked in your direction. His strides slowed once he spotted you.

“What are you doing down here?” He asked you. You came to a stop, unprepared. Normally, when a fight was over, the fighters would exit down the other hallway, making it so you didn’t have to worry about situations like this one.

“Just exploring,” You said a little too quickly. “I love walking around the Garden.” His eyes still held suspicion.

“It’s interesting,” He said, as he started walking again, blowing passed you. “That you only seem to be around for the matches as soon as Barnes comes on.” He didn’t look at you once as he continued to walk, leaving you dropping your jaw and staring at his receding back. You tried to come up with a good rebuttal, but no words came out before he turned the corner and disappeared down the hallway you had just made your way out of. You stood there, dumbfounded, as you tried to collect your bearings. Besides the backlash Bucky would receive from the entire boxing organization, another reason you tried to keep the two of you under wraps was because of Steve. The rivalry between them had begun the minute they fought the first time, and only worsened when Bucky won the championship, effectively taking the title from Steve. As one of your best friends, you knew this would be hard for him. And now your heart ached, for not only did he know, but he didn’t find out from you.

Despite the crowd quieting down, there was still a dull roar rumbling throughout the room as you walked back into the arena to find a seat towards the back. Part of you always thought about sitting towards the front, but you never did when he fought. You couldn’t stand watching Bucky get hit from close up. Every time he got punched, it felt like you were getting hit too.

A few of the men gave you weird looks as you took a seat, but you ignored them. It was always weird for a woman who wasn’t the wife of one of the fighters to be at the matches alone. And usually the wives would sit towards the front. So a woman sitting by herself towards the back like a casual spectator of the sport was an odd sight.

“Ladies and gentleman!” Announcer Fury shouted into the microphone. “It’s now time for the next fight of the evening.” He paused for anticipation as the crowd cheered. “On this side, the undefeated cruiserweight champion, clocking in at 190 pounds from Dayton, Ohio, the Incredible Hulk himself. Bruuuuuuuuuce Baaaaaanneeeeer!” Banner walked out as Fury drew out his last name. He was smaller than most people imagined him to be, but you had seen him fight before. He was quick, and no one ever expected him to hit so hard. Outside of the ring, he was a friendly, soft spoken man. But inside? He was the threat no one saw coming.

“And in this corner,” Fury continued, turning around towards the other corner. “The undefeated heavyweight champion for the last three years. Clocking in at 210 pounds, from here in Brooklyn. The Metal Armed Man. The Iron Fist. James! Buchanan! Bucky! Baaaaaaaarnes!” You felt your heart inflate the minute Bucky came into sight. His eyebrows were knitted together as he bounced on the tips of his feet, rolling his shoulders to loosen up. Your hands were squeezed together as you watched him. The fight hadn’t even begun and yet you found yourself dripping in anxiety. The two fighters met in the middle of the ring, doing the traditional touching of the gloves before going back to their respective corners. When the bell rang out and the crowd leapt forward, you felt the pounding of your heart in your throat.

In fighting positions, the boxers approached each other. Banner threw the first swing, and you were relieved that it just narrowly missed Bucky. He responded with a right hook to Banner’s cheek. It was simple like this for a minute. Basic punches to get started. Bucky landed a few more on Banner, and Banner got a few licks of his own in. As if he could feel you starting to relax, Banner leaped forward, slamming his fist into Bucky’s face repeatedly. Time seemed to slow down as Banner kept hitting him. It felt like you had been watching him get hit over and over for hours. Without thinking about it, you scooted forward in your seat, wincing every time you heard the leather of the gloves colliding with skin. Bucky stumbled backwards the first chance he got, falling into the ropes of the ring. Banner rounded on him, but Bucky threw his left arm back and socked him. The bell rang out as Banner fall backwards, just catching his footing before he got a chance to fall over. A deep sigh fell out of your lungs as if you had been holding your breath the entire three minutes. Your eyes were fixated on Bucky as he sat down on the stool in his corner, taking a sip of water and spitting it in the bucket in front of him, and you couldn’t tell if the water was actually red or if your mind was playing tricks on you. His hair was for the most part covering his face, but you could see him staring at the floor as Tony was shouting at him right next to his ear. His voice could be heard over the crowd but you couldn’t make out what he was saying. On the other side, Banner was sitting in his stool while taking direction from his own manager, Stephen Strange.

When the bell rang again, a card was carried around the ring to signal the start of round two. Bucky stood, the stool he had been sitting on removed. The bell rang once more, and both him and Banner put their mouth pieces back in and moved back into their fighting stances. The muscles in your back seized up as you watched Bucky make the first move, bounding up to Banner and hitting him twice, first with the right hand and then again with the left. Banner seemed unperturbed, stepping forward and swinging at Bucky. He landed several more hits into Bucky’s face, making bucky go forward and wrap his arms around Banner, pushing him back. Banner began swinging into his sides, hitting him right in the ribs. Before you knew it, you found yourself standing.

“Let him go!” You yelled, joining in the chorus of shouts from the crowd. “Bucky, let him go!” As if by some magic he heard you, he released Banner and jumped a few feet away from him. They danced around the ring for a while. Your stomach was churning so much that you felt like you were going to puke all over the red headed lady in front of you. The room was incredibly hot and you could feel the sweat sliding down your face. The two fighters charged towards each other, both of them swinging haphazardly, their punches landing all over each others faces. At one point, when Bucky’s glove landed against Banner’s face, you could almost hear the crunch of his nose breaking, and sure enough, his face was covered in red when Bucky pulled his glove away.

Banner brushed it off, his arm shooting out and hitting Bucky before his other arm did the same. Bucky threw his his left arm into Bruce’s face, hitting him over and over. You could tell by the look on his face that it was hurting him, but he didn’t stop. Banner dodged one hit, swivelling to the side before his fist landed against Bucky’s face. He hit him over and over in one spot. He stumbled backwards when Bucky got a hit in, but Bucky’s face was starting to swell, with blood dripping down from multiple wounds that were getting bigger with every hit. Tears were stinging your eyes as you gripped the sleeves of your coat so tightly that you could feel your nails digging into the palms of your hands. Just above the thunderous crowd, filled with cheers and shouting, you could hear Barton and Lang’s commentary into their microphones.

“Barnes is starting to look a little disorientated, folks,” Lang reported. “Will he be able to make it through this one? Or will he face the first defeat of his career?”

“Barnes is getting his fair share of hits in, but the injury in his left shoulder seems to be holding him back tonight,” Barton stated. A rush of pain filled your chest at their words. The adrenaline was telling you to run down and break the microphones, but you remained planted where you were. Stopping their commentary wouldn’t make Bucky’s performance improve.

Banner threw another hard one, knocking Bucky down to the ground. You shrieked when his body hit the floor of the ring, your hands flying to your face. There was a split in the crowd of encouragement for Bucky and support for Banner. T’Challa the referee jumped in.

“One!” He shouted, throwing his hand down with the countdown. “Two! Three!” Using his gloves to support him, Bucky unsteadily pushed himself off the floor to his feet. The crowds screams of ecstasy were deafening. Just as Bucky raised his arms to his face, the bell rang to end the round. He sloppily fell into the stool that Tony set in the ring for him, taking a sip of water and spitting it into the bucket. There was no denying the blood in it this time. As Tony was talking to Bucky, you could see Peter putting frozen quarters to the cuts on his face.

This time, instead of keeping his eyes fixed to the ground, his eyes traveled to the crowd, scanning the sea of faces. You knew who he was looking for, but the doubt that he’d find you was heavy in your head. But somehow, his eyes locked with yours. The tears that had been threatening to fall the entire match finally fell as you tried to muster up a smile at him. He smiled up at you just as Tony was shoving the mouth guard back into his mouth. Somehow, you found this reassuring.

The fighters stood back up just as the bell rang out. Tony’s hand were smacking against the mats as he yelled, eyes trained on Bucky. Subconsciously, you began stressfully playing with your fingers.

Something in the air had changed, and somehow everyone knew it. Bucky rounded on Banner, throwing punches left and right. Hitting him repeatedly on each side. The crowd was going nuts at the sudden switch. Banner couldn’t even get a hit in, and every time he tried to dodge, it was like Bucky saw it coming. He had Banner cornered, so fast that even you could barely keep up. Banner raised his arms in defense, but somehow Bucky was hitting around them. Lang and Barton were screaming so loud into their microphones that you could easily pick their voices out from the flood of voices and shouting.

“BARNES IS COMING BACK FROM THE KNOCK DOWN OF THE LAST ROUND, LETTING EVERYONE KNOW THAT HE MEANS BUSINESS!”

“I’M NOT SURE WHERE THIS SUDDEN CHANGE CAME FROM BUT BARNES’ SUDDEN MOTIVATION AND DETERMINATION COULD WIN HIM THIS FIGHT.”

You found yourself yelling for Bucky as well, something you didn’t usually do.

“HIT HIM BUCKY!” You shrieked. “KNOCK HIS ASS DOWN!” The men around you looked at you in surprise at your sudden change in demeanor, but you didn’t care. Somehow, you felt that maybe, just maybe, he’d be able to hear you over the other voices.

Bucky changed gears, switching his footing and slamming his left arm into Banner’s head repeatedly. Over and over. The deep red that filled his cheeks showed that it was hurting him, but he kept doing it. Your entire body vibrated in anxiety. You weren’t a fan of the fighting, never had been. The violent nature of the sport was off putting to you. But you always found yourself getting like this whenever it was Bucky. Like you were the biggest fan of the sport. Even when you listened to one of his matches at home, you still found yourself screaming at the radio. But you’d never do it for anyone else. Just him.

One last hit with his left arm, and Banner met the floor, flopping down in dead weight. T’Challa ran to his still body, counting down. Despite the fact that it was clear that Banner was indeed knocked out, you still had your hands on your face, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Waiting for him to suddenly get up and round on Bucky. But he didn’t.

“Eight! Nine!” T’Challa counted, throwing his arm down one last time before shouting a definitive, “TEN!”

The crowd was so ear-splittingly loud that you couldn’t hear even the thoughts in your own head. But it didn’t matter because the screams you had been holding back finally escaped your throat to join them. T’Challa grabbed Bucky’s arm, throwing it up in the air. Bucky’s smile was sloppy, but still meaningful and full of pride. Tony jumped in the ring, followed closely by Peter, and grabbed Bucky’s shoulders, shaking him around while laughing. It wasn’t a championship or anything special by any means. It was a fight to keep the fighters going. And it was exciting to see two great fighters from two different divisions go head to head. Especially when both of them were undefeated. And now only one of them could continue to say that.

Someone opened a bottle of champagne and poured it all over Bucky. He looked up at the ceiling while laughing, as Peter threw his arms around him. He wrapped his arm around the younger boy tightly, shaking him all around. Tony was hugging everyone. Fury the announcer, T’Challa the referee. From the side of the ring, you could see Strange watching the celebration in bemusement. Not that it really surprised you. With the way the fight had been going, it probably perplexed most people that Bucky had come out on top.

Banner finally came to, slowly standing up. With support from Strange, he congratulated Bucky on his victory before carefully walking out of the ring. Bucky started to head that way as well, but the way he staggered as he climbed out between the ropes made the smile on your face drop.

You jumped away from your seat with the rest of the crowd. While they all surrounded the ring, trying to get a word in to Bucky as he walked out of the arena, you ran down the hallway. The one no one used. When you rounded the corner to the locker rooms, you saw Peter waiting for you. A feeling of gratefulness washed over you. Tony and Peter were the only two who knew about you and Bucky, and they did everything in their power to not only keep it a secret, but to keep you two together. Without hesitation, you ran up and enveloped him in a hug.

“HE WON! HE WON! HE WON!” You both chorused to each other, spinning around in a circle in each others arms. He let you go, his smile radiant and hopeful.

“I hope that I can fight like that someday,” He said in awe. You smiled down at the younger boy. He was so hopeful and full of promise, just like Bucky had been when he started fighting. Even now, Bucky still had the energy and spirit that Peter emitted. Except now he had the confidence of a winner to go with it.

“You will,” You assured him. “Tony and Buck will make sure of it.” His smile could light up even the darkest room. He nodded for about fifteen seconds, looking around the hallway as if he was imagining his future as a boxer. Suddenly, his back straightened and he looked back at you.

“They’re icing his shoulder, and keeping the reporters out,” He told you. “You’ve got however much time you need.” You grabbed his face and kissed his cheek before running towards the locker room door. Before throwing it open, you turned to Peter and flashed him a tender smile, one that he returned almost instantly.

“Thank you, Peter,” You said. “For everything.” And you ran into the locker room before he could respond.

The table that Bucky had been using as a dining table earlier, he was now lying on. A giant bag of ice covered his shoulder and his arm was thrown over his face. His chest rose and fell heavily, and at some points you could hear the way his breaths staggered. His torso was painted purple and blue, his other arm around it protectively. Sweat dripped off the ends of his hair that hung off the edge of the table. His gloves were on the floor next to him. You slowly approached the table. Somehow, this was the easiest part of a fight. The punching was over, and now he got to heal. Standing at the end of the table over his head, you leaned down and gently kissed his mouth. He jumped slightly, but then smiled into the kiss.

“I know that’s not Tony,” He said without uncovering his eyes. His voice was rough and tired, but still happy sounding. “His lips are too rough.” You giggled.

“You would know,” You mumbled, your hands finding the top of his head. It was hard to ignore the amount of sweat that now covered your skin, but you didn’t care. You were just so relieved to find him over. He reached up with his right hand, uncovering his face, and grabbed your upper arm, giving you an assuring squeeze. You let out a sigh, your breath more strangled than you thought it would be. “I was so scared for you.” Your voice was now a whisper as tears fell down your cheeks. His smile didn’t falter as he stared up at you, his thumb stroking your arm over your coat.

“I wasn’t,” He told you. “I found you in the crowd, and that was all the motivation I needed.” You shook your head. He always somehow found a way to give you credit for all of his success, while you always thought somehow you were holding him back.

“No, no,” You argued, looking away from him. “That was all you, pal.” He shook his head.

“Nope,” He said, his smile wider now. “It was all you.” Your heart swelled as you stared at him. The cuts on the sides of his face were minor, and the bruises surrounding his eyes slightly puffy. Slowly, you extended your hand towards the bruising, your fingertips grazing his warm skin. His eyes closed at your touch.

“Once we have kids together, you can’t box anymore,” You declared suddenly. “I’m not risking something happening to you and me having to raise babies by myself.” His eyes shot open in surprise, a total change from his previous demeanor. This was a new conversation, neither of you daring to approach the subject of a future together when what you two had was still a secret to the world.

“You want to have kids with me?” He breathed, the twitching of the corners of his lips making it evident that he was trying to hide his excitement. As hard as you tried, you couldn’t hide the smile that fell upon your lips.

“Of course I want to have kids with you,” You told him. “But not when you’re doing this. So I hope you’re getting it out of your system now because once you get me pregnant, it’s done.” You felt yourself soften as your head tilted slightly to the side. “I can barely stand you getting hit now as it is, just imagine me pregnant. I don’t think I’d be able to handle it.”

“Your father would kill you and me if I got you pregnant,” he said, laughing. You laughed with him.

“That’s another reason why you’d have to stop boxing,” You told him. “Can’t have that sort of press for the game.” Your tone was slightly mocking. He chuckled slightly, but you could tell he was still getting over the initial shock of the conversation. “You can stay at home and watch the baby while I get a job as a seamstress.” He was laughing now.

“Yeah,” he said. “And then I’ll get a factory job when you get fired because you can’t sew to save your life.” Heat filled your cheeks but you laughed with him anyway. His hand left your arm, reaching up for your cheek. You lowered your head down slightly so it was easier on his tired arms, falling slightly into his palm. “The minute you get pregnant, I retire. I promise.” His fingers extended so now he was holding the back of your head, slowly pulling you down towards him. He kissed you, more exerted and passionate this time. When you pulled away, your face hovered a few inches above his. “I love you. So much.” His breath was hot against your face.

“I love you too,” You told him, your fingers running over his head to removed the strands of hair matted to his skin. “And I also have some news.” He watched you confused as you unbuttoned your coat and reached into your inside pocket.

“What is it?” He asked, his voice now filled with concern. You pulled out small, folded up pocket of papers, handing it to him. He unfolded the papers and read them, his face going from confusion to complete shock. His eyes shot up at you with his mouth falling open, no words coming out.

“This is your last fight,” You told him, one of your hands finding your stomach. Terror filled you, as the two of you were unmarried. But the wide smile that filled his cheeks was enough to put those fears at bay. It was scary times, with the future uncertain. But you believed you could get through anything with Bucky by your side. “Your boxing days are numbered.”


End file.
